Mayero
by Literaryluminations
Summary: Oh, goodness. How do I begin? Mark is upset over Maureen dumping him for Joanne, so he goes to a bar, and meets someone who had been in a very similar situation. Mark/Fiyero, brief mentions of Gelphie.


**A/N: This is written for my amazing friend, Stalker (I-Stalk-Espinosa-xo). She's just... sheer and utter awesome. :D **

**This fic was created when Stalker and I started talking, about MoJo and Gelphie and how Mark and Fiyero had a lot in common. ;) **

**Uuuuhgh, this is _definitely _not my best work... ew. I'm really unhappy with the way it turned out, but I promised Stalker I'd post it. For her. It was her birthday a week or so ago, you know. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STALKER-LOVE!**

**AND the ultra-amazing Elfy (lotrelves) beta'd this... I'm so grateful to her. I mean, she tortured herself and beta'd it really soon after I sent it to her, while she was sick, too! **

**------------**

The inter-musical bar was crowded as always, just as Fiyero knew it would be. Where else did adults of different places, times, and even universes gather together and share drinks? Not many places were _that_ open, after all.

Fiyero stamped the snow off his boots and glided over to the bar, passing a table of puppets, what looked like a bunch of anthropomorphic silverware, Grania, and The Phantom of the Opera. He smiled and waved at them, doing a spin in his signature Tight White Pants.

He plopped down on a barstool, sitting in-between a fuming, blue-and-white scarf-clad man and a giggling Sally Brown, who was holding hands with Schroder.

"One of those," he said, pointing to the half-empty glass sitting in front of the scarf-man. The bartender nodded and began mixing together ingredients.

"I'll have another one," the angsting man burped, downing the rest of his glass with a single gulp. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand, shuddering as the harsh alcohol burned his throat. His eyes were unfocused; he was obviously drunk.

"How many have you had?" Fiyero asked, his eyebrows rising in curiosity.

The man shrugged; the universal sign for 'No clue'.

"Here." The nondescript bartender slid the drinks in front of them.

Fiyero rummaged around in his pocket before pulling out a few rumpled bills. He handed them to the bartender, who counted them out before pocketing them.

Fiyero took a swig of the burgundy liquid, spewing it out on the countertop when it burned his mouth.

"That," he said, licking his lips and frowning, "was disgusting. How do you drink that stuff anyways? It's like… pure alcohol."

"I wouldn't notice. Life is just… ugh. Crappy." The scarf-man sighed and took a long swing from his glass.

"Sweet Lurline, what happened?" Fiyero asked, beckoning the bartender with his hand. He ordered a plate of potato fries; it was obvious he wasn't going to drink his drink, and he needed something to do with his hands.

"My girlfriend dumped me," the man said with a sigh, "for a woman… my best friend is addicted to drugs. My little sister had kids, and my mom is calling me every day, wanting to know if my ex-girlfriend and I are getting married. And I have no job." He ground his knuckles into his eyes, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

Fiyero couldn't help but laugh. "Your girlfriend dumped you for a woman? Try having your girlfriend and your crush hook up! Talk about awkward." The scarf-man chortled into his scarf, laughing so hard he cried. He was _wasted._

"By the way, my name's Fiyero. I'm from _Wicked_, the musical." He stuck out a hand to shake.

"Mark," the scarf-man said, sticking out his hand and missing by a long shot. "_RENT_."

"Ah." Fiyero nodded and took another swing of his drink. It was drinkable the second time around, though it was still disgusting (in his personal opinion).

"Mm-hmm." Soon enough, the fries came. Fiyero smothered them with a purplish sauce that tasted like grapes and was surprisingly good on the fries. He dove in, shoving as many as he could into his mouth. He gestured and grunted with his mouth full for Mark to do the same. The blonde man dug in, surprisingly hungry.

As one order turned into two and then into three, the two men became acquainted. They had a lot in common, besides the fact that their girlfriends had dumped them for other women. They both looked _stunning_in blue, for instance, and both their mothers tended to be very… mothering. Mark said that his mom was a "true Jewish mama," and Fiyero, not exactly sure what that meant agreed that "true Jewish mamas" and "true Vinkun mamas" must be cut from the same cloth. Mark agreed with a vigorous nod and another purple-goo covered fry.

The full effect of alcohol finally hit Mark and during a pause in their conversation he slumped down in his chair, deeply asleep. Fiyero shook him, trying to wake his new friend but to no avail.

"C'mon," he hissed, grabbing both the man's shoulders and shaking him like a tree on a windy day. The man didn't budge. Fiyero sighed, his eyebrow raised. "What now?" He wondered aloud. He couldn't just leave the man there—who knew what strange character would wind up in the bar as the night turned into morning? Fiyero felt a strange urge to protect the blonde, especially while he slept. He was so innocent looking when his face wasn't creased with worry-lines. So Fiyero stood up, wrapped his arm under Mark's shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged him toward his home.

It was a small space and made all the smaller by the clutter Fiyero had left lying out. He tripped over mountains of laundry, empty boxes of food, and the occasional magazine, nearly letting Mark fall unceremoniously to the floor after each lurch.

He swiped some assorted clutter off of the couch with is foot before dropping his friend onto the dusty, makeshift bed. He thankfully found a clean sheet in his closet and he used it to cover the snoring man. Then Fiyero climbed into his own bed, where he let sleep claim him.

Fiyero was the first to wake up the next morning, annoyingly cheerful after a good night's rest. He jumped out of bed and walked towards his tiny kitchen, freezing when he heard a loud snore emit from the couch next to him. He peered over the edge, looking at the holey bottoms of Mark's shoes. He grinned at his foolishness and walked over to the stove putting up some tea on to brew.

Mark woke up when a soft hand shook his shoulder gently. He cracked open one eye, grimacing in the harsh light. _Killer hangover… ugh._

"Tea?" Fiyero asked, holding out a sort-of clean mug. Mark groaned and sat up, and then took the cup and held it in his hands.

"Argh," he started, rubbing his face with his hand. "Where am I?" He remembered Fiyero and the two of them talking, but after a while everything in his mind became blurry, like the pictures on a roll of weather-worn film.

"My flat," Fiyero said, delicately sipping his tea.

"And I am here because..?" Mark blinked a few more times, but the light in the room was still too bright for him to fully open his eyes.

"You fell asleep at the bar last night," Fiyero explained, "I couldn't just leave you there; strange characters come out at night."

"Oh." Mark had nothing to say. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Fiyero grinned and took another sip of his tea. Mark began sipping his tea too, happy to find it very effective at curing his headache.

"I should go now." Mark said finally, draining the last of the tea from his mug. "Rog'll need me. He's… not doing so well."

Fiyero patted his friend's shoulder sympathetically. Mark smiled up at him, before handing his mug over.

"So, really, thank you." He followed Fiyero into the kitchen, standing there awkwardly for a moment before saying, "Mind if I try something?"

Fiyero shrugged. "Sure."

Mark leaned forward, placing his hands on Fiyero's shoulders. He brought their lips together and, for a very brief moment, Fiyero kissed him back. When the Tight White Pants wearer realized what he was doing, he broke their kiss and pushed the man away.

"Not cool." He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know both our girlfriends cheated on us with other women, but that doesn't make me gay!"

Mark was blushing so hard his hair took on a pinkish tinge. "I—I'm so sorry… I… I don't know what came over me… oh God, I'm sorry."

Fiyero shrugged. "I don't blame you," he said with a cheeky grin. "I'm _scandalacious,_ after all."

Mark laughed, gave Fiyero an awkward wave and half-grin, and turned to leave.

"Bye!" Fiyero called out as he heard the door open. "See you!"

"Bye!" Mark called back, before making his way back to the loft.


End file.
